


God of the Animals

by TheRealEvanSG



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Shapeshifting, Earth-199999, Jackie goes to Midtown High, Jackie needs a hug, Learning-to-love-yourself character arc, MCU-verse, Main character has suffered past trauma that still haunts him, Reincarnation, Self-Insert, Self-worth and self-esteem issues, Superior Instincts, Therianthrope Powers, Transformation, super speed, super strength
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27471604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealEvanSG/pseuds/TheRealEvanSG
Summary: To atone for the sins he feels he has committed, Jackie Jameson, grandon of J. Jonah Jameson, dons the persona of Pan, a superhero with the ability to take on individual characteristics of, or fully transform into, any species within the Animal Kingdom. (Self-Insert)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. JJ, Grandson of JJJ

Waking up in New York City, in 2013, in a world where _Tony Stark exists_ is still baffling to an Ohioan from a non-Marvel world like me, even after fifteen years of living here. Waking up in the big downtown apartment of Internet-infamous J. Jonah Jameson as his grandson was even stranger.

There’d just be some things I’d never get used to, I supposed. I’d never get used to the long, angular face staring back at me in the mirror, with that light brown, curly hair instead of the dark brown, nearly black and straight hair I’d spent the _first_ eighteen years of my existence with. I’d never get used to being _taller_ than most other people my age instead of either the same height or shorter, and even though I was entering my first year at Midtown High, I still hadn’t gotten used to going to sleep with the sounds of the city that never sleeps constantly in my ear.

Also, having to suffer through elementary and high school all over again was not fun at all. At least I had another opportunity to go on Foreign Exchange again, which I would _absolutely_ be taking. God, that had been fun the first time around.

“Jack!” my grandfather’s booming voice came from the room below me. “I have a very important meeting tonight with some construction workers who understand the dangers posed by the Avengers—those vigilante menaces! I won’t be driving you home from school, so you’ll have to walk by yourself!”

I rolled my eyes. Classic J. Jon—I mean, Grandpa. _God, it feels weird calling him grandpa_ . “Sure, whatever, Grandpa,” I groaned a bit. Ever since the Incident, as the world had taken to calling that time when aliens fell upon Hell’s Kitchen through a portal in the sky, my grandfather had been furiously ranting against the Earth’s mightiest heroes. He wrote tons of disparaging articles against everyone but Captain America, and even then that was only because in his words, _“Captain America has an excuse because he was an actual army captain!”_

“Love you, Jack! Have fun at school!”

Ugh. School. Please, dad, don’t remind me. “Probably not,” I joked back in response.

I sat eating a breakfast steak-and-egg meal that dad had ordered from a nearby restaurant for me, musing over what I needed to do for the rest of the day. I had homework to turn in for my Geometry and Physics courses, soccer practice after the school day ended, and… Oh, shit. The interview was today! Panicking a bit, because I still wasn’t finished with breakfast and I needed to pack up my suit and tie for the interview, I rushed into my bedroom to fetch said suit.

Oh, did I forget to mention that? Yeah. I was a journalist, too—well, an aspiring journalist, anyway. I was a part of Midtown High’s Youth Journalism program, and through it, I’d been set up to interview Norman Osborn.

That was one of the weirdest sentences of my life, right up there with _aliens fell out of the sky and attacked Hell’s Kitchen_.

The day passed slowly, my nerves crawling underneath my skin. I was about to meet the man who’d become the Green Goblin—probably. If the comics and past Spider-Man movies were anything to go by. I kept twirling a pencil between my fingers, and halfway through English, accidentally did it too fast. The pencil flung through the air and almost hit the class beauty, Leanne Hahn. Whoopsie. I kept playing awkwardly in soccer practice.

Finally, soccer practice ended, and I rushed into the locker room to change into my suit and tie.

“Wow, Jackie, you clean up nice,” Nick Hardman, who was my best friend in this world and who had the second most unfortunate name ever behind Richard Hardman, wolf-whistled. He stood in front of his locker, drinking from a water bottle. When I finished showering and came out of the bathroom attached to the locker room in my suit and tie, he rose an eyebrow and clapped me on the shoulder. “Lookin’ good there, my man.”

I rolled my eyes. “God, Nick, you know I hate being called Jackie.”

“But it’s your name,” Nick countered cheekily.

“I know, but it’s a _girl’s_ name. For the… what, nine hundredth time now? Call me Jack or JJ.”

“Will do, Jackie.”

Little shit. My eye twitched a bit. Nick was a nice guy, super loyal and dependable, but he definitely had his annoying side. While, I guess I did, too, though. Like, my entire being, for example. Maybe that was why we made such great friends—we annoyed the hell outta each other. A little counterproductive? Maybe, but who gives a shit? It’s high school. High schoolers are allowed to be a little counterproductive. Besides, Nick was great at Smash Bros.

…Though he mained all the zoning characters. Little shit.

“So, off to your big interview?” Nick asked as I walked out. He slung his bookbag over his shoulders and took a sip of water, then walked out behind me, across the cement blocks leading from the locker room to the school parking lot. “Norman Osborn… man o’ mystery. The genius millionaire who’s the closest thing Tony Stark has to competition. You scored big!”

“I got lucky,” I corrected, smirking. I swallowed and nodded. “But, yeah. Tonight’s interview night.”

“Neat,” Nick approved, nodding. “Get me a signed souvenir, huh?”

“Sure, sure. _I Went to Oscorp and All I Got Was This T-Shirt._ ”

“I’m looking forward to it!” Nick laughed as he raced ahead of me to wear his mom waited for him in her old ’67 Chevy.

Relaxed somewhat thanks to Nick, I headed off into town. I boarded the metro and hitched a ride into the heart of the city, where Oscorp’s HQ was located. It was a tall skyrise, towering over the rest of the buildings and absolutely dwarfing me. I always felt like an ant in this city. I wasn’t sure if I liked that feeling or not.

Hesitating a bit, I walked toward the big, rotating glass doors of the Oscorp Tower. Oscorp HQ _looked_ rich; it had marble floors, and big, golden chandeliers hanging from the walls. To the left sat two vending machines, one selling candy, chips, and snacks, the other selling drinks like water, iced coffee, and soda. Rows of long seats with what looked like leather cushions sat ‘round tables, and the backs of the seats had charging ports; several scientists in white lab coats sat huddled around one table, eating Chinese takeout and talking over some blueprints. A brilliant, royal purple rug stretched out to the front desk. To the right was the entrance to the first floor bathrooms, and further from the door, the entrance to the elevator. On either side of the front desk was a stairwell; the one on the left side went down and read _To Archives_ _and Library_ while the one on the right side went up and was labeled _To Offices, Labs, and Penthouse_.

Holy shit, Oscorp HQ had its own library? Color me impressed.

“Hello, sir,” the lady at the front desk greeted. “How may I help you today?”

I nodded, reached into my backpack, and pulled out the paper that the teacher in charge of the journalism club had given me, signed by Norman Osborn himself. “I have an interview with Norman Osborn scheduled at five, ma’am, for my school newspaper.”

The blonde woman—Karen, according to her nametag—took the paper and glanced it over. “Ah, Jackie Jameson, through the partnership with Midtown High.” She smiled at me and nodded. “I’ll buzz Mr. Osborn and let him know you’ve arrived. Have a seat in the meantime. If you need any snacks, feel free to use the vending machine.”

“Thanks, um, Karen,” I said with a smile and a nod. I made my way over to the cushiony seats—Jesus Christ they were soft—and snacked on a KitKat bar. I sat in silence, lost in my own thoughts, and as they often tended to when I found myself alone, they started to stray. The sweet chocolate on my tongue tasted delightful, but distracted me enough that I didn’t hear the person behind me until she said:

“Jackie? I’ve let Mr. Osborn know you’ve arrived. He expects you on the penthouse floor in the room immediately on the right. It’ll have a nameplate on it that says it’s his personal office.”

I jumped a little and turned, blushing. That was embarrassing, getting scared like that. I smiled at Karen the Front Desk Lady and nodded. “Thank you.”

“And here’s a card so that you can access the penthouse floor,” she added, smiling at me and handing me a green card with the white Oscorp logo on the front and a mag strip on the back. “Please return it when your interview is over.”

“Can do, thanks,” I agreed, taking the card, pulling my wallet out, and slipping it in. She returned to the front desk, and I headed over to the elevator. It had a massive amount of numbers for floors, as well as buttons labeled P, G, and S. I didn’t know what the S stood for, but I guessed G meant Ground and P meant Penthouse. I pressed the P button and found myself with a—surprisingly short elevator ride, actually, considering the 90 floors it has.

…The elevator played a remixed elevator music version of _Iron Man_.

Not what I was expecting for Tony Stark’s closest competitor but okay, whatever. Sure. Or, wait, actually, thinking about it, it kind of made sense why a song about an “Iron Man” being unloved and unwanted would be something Norman Osborn would love to have in his elevator.

A ding rang out as the elevator stopped, and I left, finding myself in a waiting room with a fancy red and gold-trimmed carpet, as well as a locked door in front of me. I walked forward, swiped my card along the card detector next to the door, and the stainless steel colored doors slid open to the side. I stepped through, found the door with Osborn’s nameplate on it, and entered.

It was a large office with two bookshelves on the right, and on the opposite wall, a picture of a woman who I assumed was Norman’s wife, and a picture of what looked to be Harry Osborn. Potted plants were spaced evenly around the pictures, as well as small waiting couches. Two chairs were pulled up to the front of Norman’s desk, the latest and highest-end model of the Oscomputer 11X (I did _not_ like how that rolled off the tongue, and had a few choice alternate name suggestions) sat on his desk, and he’d mounted a widescreen 4k OsTV Infinite on the wall next to the door.

The OsTV Infinite was a _much_ better name than the Oscomputer 11X, I’ll give him that.

Norman Osborn himself sat behind the desk in a chair that looked more expensive than my whole house had been in my last life. A full glass wall illuminated him from behind, giving a truly beautiful view of Midtown Manhattan. He smiled at me and nodded. “Hello—Jackie, right? I have fifteen minutes before my next appointment, so I must forgive you if the interview won’t be as long as you’d like; I’m afraid I’m a busy man.”

I cringed a bit at the use of my full name. “Please, just call me Jack or JJ.”

Norman nodded and motioned to the right. “Would you like a drink?” he asked, and I blinked, following the area he’d indicated and staring. There was a glass door, the kind you’d find on a vending machine, and a panel with a down arrow button and an up arrow button hugging a screen vertically. It also had a red button on the left corner. “Head up to that screen and go ahead and tell it what you’d like to drink. Tony Stark isn’t the only one with a natural language UI.”

“Whoa, no kidding,” I said, raising an eyebrow. I walked up to it and paused as the screen blinked on.

“Hello, my name is G.E.R.T.Y.,” the intelligent system greeted me, startling me a bit. I blinked a few times at it, awed. “What can I do for you today?”

“Uh, I’d like you to get me something, G.E.R.T.Y.,” I responded, nodding. “How about a wa—” Some spit or something must’ve caught in my throat, because I felt something moist in there and started coughing mid-sentence. I bent over a bit, blinking in surprise, and shook my head. “—water.” The word had come out kinda mangled because of the cough, and for a second I thought the UI. might need a second response, but the screen turned into a white background with a green checkmark.

“Understood, sir. Coming right up.” The robotic voice stopped speaking.

I paused and glanced at Norman. “How long—” As soon as that had left my lips, the vending machine-like door slid open, and I spun around to see a glass filled with water sitting there. It was a bit tall and thin, but I blinked and shrugged. I took the glass to my lips, started drinking, and paused. It tasted kind of… sweet. Frowning, because I hadn’t really been wanting that, I shrugged and placed the glass back in the clamper it had come in. It lowered quickly, vanishing.

“Alright, what would you like to ask about?” Norman asked amiably, and I blinked and nodded, going over to sit down in one of those chairs in front of the desk.

“Ah, yes, I’d like to style my interview over the up and coming Oscon that’s going to be airing in two months,” I told him, scratching my cheek. I sat my backpack down next to the chair, pulled out my yellow notebook, and took out a Sharpie pen. “With the Stark Expo right around the corner, what events do you have planned for this year’s Oscon to counter?”

Norman’s eyes lit up, and he sat forward in his chair. The man looked just like that guy who played Jamie Lannister in _The Game of Thrones—_ what was his name… Waldau? Yeah, Waldau. If his hair was black instead of blonde, anyway. His eyes looked interested, but they were really deep, and had something in them that made it seem like he wasn’t fully here. “Ah, Oscon 2013! Now that is an interesting topic. As many people are aware, I am working on the next Oscomputer, code name SESHAT. Its design is finished, and we’re currently finishing up on the software, but it’ll be present at the Oscon.” He rattled off a few other mainstream products that’d be appearing—his company’s own foray into the video game industry, aka the Genie Generations; his series of home security devices; and his wife’s new clothes lineup.

I also asked a few other questions—What kinds of specs can we expect to see in the Genie Generations? Why was it delayed after having been revealed at E3 last year and set to release in February? Does the SESHAT have a working title decided upon? And last but not least—

“There have lately been rumors you’re dabbling in chemistry,” I asked, noticing how Norman grew oddly still. “Can you give us any hint if those rumors are true? And if so, what kinds of things are you working on?”

“I’m afraid those rumors are baseless,” Norman sighed, shrugging. “You know the Internet—rumor mills do what rumor mills do best. The age of information is also the age of lies and false leaks. Our previous console didn’t have a paywall for the internet, and I’m not dabbling in chemistry.”

I tapped my pen against my chin. “Even though public reports show that Oscorp HQ has taken on scientists who worked with Bruce Banner, who turned into the Hulk last year?”

Norman’s face grew stormy and annoyed. “They have backgrounds in engineering; that is why I hired them. Do you have any other questions?” His voice was gruff, and highly indicative that he didn’t want to continue any further.

Hmmm… interesting. I studied him for a few moments, then shrugged and nodded. “Fair enough,” I concluded, scribbling down his response on my paper. Norman glanced at the time on his wrist watch (also Os brand, of course).

“Well, I’m afraid we’re out of time. I hope your story goes well, and don’t forget to leave Karen the entry card.”

“Thank you for letting me interview you,” I said, letting out a breath of nerves now that I could leave. I snapped my notebook shut, slipped it in my backpack, and swiftly left after sticking my pen into the little pouch on the front of my backpack. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Osborn, sir.”

“Likewise,” he said, though the smile he plastered on didn’t quite reach his eyes.

As I closed the door to his office and returned to the elevator, I thought back over the interview. I’d been keeping a close tab on important figures from the Marvel world that I’d caught wind of, which was how I knew about those hires I’d asked Norman about. I wanted to be as well-informed as I possibly could be; the last movie that had come out for me before I’d died the first time around was _Infinity War_ . I had no idea what to expect from _Endgame_ outside of the few trailers and fan theorizing that had been going on, and had absolutely _zero_ clue what the MCUverse would look like spanning out past that. Any information I could gather, since by the way Tony Stark looked exactly like Robert Downey Jr. I strongly guessed I was in the MCU, was more than welcome.

Strange, though, that my grandfather still looked exactly like Simmons.

As I thought over this and other multiverse-related things, I winced and cracked my back. It felt… weird. Uncomfortable. Cracking it felt nice, but it didn’t change much. I distracted myself from the strange feeling in my spine by listening to the elevator music, which had changed to a remix of _Africa_ by Toto.

The feeling went away after a moment, but as the floor count changed from 20 to 19 to 18, I blinked and canted my head to the side. I reached up to my ear, stuck a finger in like a Q-tip, and cleaned it out a bit. I blinked again and glanced around, swallowing. Why were the sounds of the gears, belts, and metal grinding against metal in the elevator shaft so damn loud? They’d been pretty much impossible to hear inside the elevator box when I first went up to the penthouse. What was going on? Was it some kind of equipment malfunction?

My heart fluttered fearfully in my chest.

Shit, I didn’t want to die like this—well, die again, really! Dying hurt like hell!

The moment the box finally reached the ground floor, I hightailed it out of there, a bit surprised myself at how quickly I sprinted out. Karen the Front Desk lady looked taken aback as I slapped the card on the desk. “Is everything alright?” she asked, brows knitting.

“I-I think you guys need to work on your elevator,” I gulped, sweating a bit. I’d never been one to be afraid of elevators, enclosed spaces, or heights, but that had been _terrifying_. “B-bye!”

I could feel her confusion as I left, and I quickly hurried to the doors. I wasn’t quite focused on where I was going; my senses were all weird, somehow, and I felt like they were slowly growing louder and louder. I could hear the bites of Chinese takeout that those scientists who sat around the tables took; an office lady and man came down the stairs, and I could hear their conversation like I stood right beside them. I flinched as someone pressed the button on the vending machine, ordering a soda; the sound of it was like someone had placed my ear right up against it and blown the volume up.

What in the world was going _on_!?

Suddenly, the sounds of the building dulled and I found myself blinking rapidly as light bore into my eyes. Super strong scents of burnt gasoline and fresh hot dogs barreled into my nose; flinching back, I struck something hard and thin behind me, yelping. “Ow!” I cried, nursing my head and turning in surprise—

Oh, that was the turning glass door. Wait, I’d already made it outside? That explained all the smells, and the sounds of those people yelling about bad driving. I hadn’t even noticed I’d made it out. I stumbled backwards. I nearly bumped into someone, but suddenly my instincts flared up and I swerved out of the way.

“Whoa, watch it!” the pedestrian gaped, staring at me. “Weirdo…”

I took a few deep breaths, shaking my head and rubbing it. “S-Sorry…”

Not quite knowing what to do about this, I took a few more deep breaths and was pleased to find that my senses grew—well, not quite normal, but more manageable, at least. I ducked my head and hurried quickly back towards the metro station.

What was happening to me? Why were all my senses so hyperactive? And—why were all my thoughts so _loud_!?

After a few minutes and a few more deep breaths, I once again felt normal enough that I wasn’t too concerned. Feeling more relaxed thanks to the interview being over and my senses back to usual, I paused in the street and considered what I should do next. I could go home, or… I bit my lip, mood dropping.

Or… I could always go to the Queens Med Center.

God, I hated going to the Med Center.

There was a reason why I lived with only my grandfather. It wasn’t a pleasant one. My father died when I was young in this world, and grandpa basically became my surrogate dad. I didn’t remember my father at all… only vague memories. A small smile, warm, brown eyes… Nothing solid. And I didn’t like bringing up the subject; my grandfather always got this pained, sad, far-away look in his eyes.

And my mother? She’s why I hated visiting the Med Center.

...I hadn’t seen her in a month. I hesitated, and almost went down into the metro. My morals and self-worth battled for a few minutes, and at last my morals won out. I turned back down the street, headed toward the Queens Med Center.

(I did buy a hotdog from a street vendor on the way, though; hey, I was _hungry_!)

A few minutes later, I arrived at the doorstep of the hospital, taking a deep breath. This was my last chance; I still didn’t _have_ to visit her. I hadn’t called her or anything. Who knew if she’d even be awake? Half the time, she _wasn’t_ ; more than half the time, even.

I swallowed, shook my head, and entered.

Hospitals always have a certain _stink_ to them—the stench of being _too clean_. Personally, I hated the smell. I hadn’t minded it much in my past life, but in this life, I couldn’t help but link it with the pain I always felt entering this damn place. Shoulders scrunched up, I shuffled to the front desk. “Name’s Jackie Jameson,” I murmured.

There were several ladies handling things, but the one I had walked up to, I recognized. She’d worked there for quite a few years; she was middle-aged, somewhat on the shorter side, had beautiful ebony skin, and a really nice smile. She’d become something of a family friend and used to bake me cookies for the family tradition of visiting the day after my birthday. “Ah, hey, JJ,” she greeted warmly as I shifted about from foot to foot. “Haven’t seen you in a while. It’s nice to see you. You know what floor your mom’s on. Go on and go ahead.”

“Right,” I mumbled, nodding a short, awkward nod. “Thanks.”

I took the stairs to the second floor—where they housed the invalids—and my mood sunk more with each step. I rounded a corner, and arrived at room 234; _Tessie Jameson_ , the nameplate on the door read. Hating the fact that I was here, and hating myself for hating that, I opened the door and stepped through.

Entering my mom’s hospital room felt like entering a tomb.

It was almost always dark when I entered, even the blinds shut. If the lights were on while she slept, my mom got terrible nightmares. It smelled… well, not good. My mom couldn’t exactly _clean_ herself properly. Not since… Well. Not since Iraq.

My mom had been a soldier fighting in the Iraq war. That was how she’d met my dad; war romance and all that sappy, love-story stuff. She’d been a pretty decorated soldier, too—super good at her job.

Then, during one of her rare visits back home, my family had received a mysterious package in the mail. I’d been the one to find it; I’d thought little of it at the time. I’d been a six-year-old kid, still slowly regaining my old memories and suffering from the slight confusion that having two conflicting pools of memories gave. I didn’t question the mysterious brown package with the odd shape filling it, and brought it in the house as my mom finished up getting ready to go out to eat with us. I had placed it on the table, walked out to the car, and a few minutes later... 

The authorities later said it had been sent by jihadists seeking revenge on my mom. It hadn’t killed her as they’d been hoping, but it had caused her severe enough brain damage that she’d been reduced to the state she remained in these days.

 _My fault_.

I sat in a visitor’s chair, staring sadly at my mother. Darkness suited this place, I decided; as much as it made the room feel like a tomb, it helped hide my mother’s face. It helped make it so that I couldn’t see her disfigured forehead, eye, and nose as easily. And as grateful as I was for that… shame ate away at me.

Mom stirred a little, and not wanting to be there while she was awake, I got up, swallowing a lump in my throat.

Time to go.

“...M-Mom, I’m…” I started to apologize. I froze, the words catching in my throat, and shaking my head at myself, I hurried out of there. Down the stairs, through the lobby, and out the door… I only felt like myself again when I had emerged onto the streets of the Big Apple.

Deep breath, Jackie. In, out. In, out…

 _Alright_.

I rounded the corner of the block and almost ran down the street. I wanted to get as far away as quickly as possible, because I felt _terrible_. I took a shortcut, ducking through an alley, and emerged on the other side, lost in worry.

The sky above slowly grew dark. It was about six-thirty, now, after all, and the sun was low enough that the streets were covered in shadows. Evenings in New York always had lots of shadows because of all the high rises… Another thing I still had to adjust to.

Alright, school was done, the interview had ended, and my visit to mom went… _well_ … Kind of. So… unless I wanted to grab a few bags of candy, first, it was time to return home.

Pausing, I frowned and shrugged. I _did_ want candy, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to spend some time getting it… As I walked, I didn’t quite pay attention, but maybe I should have because—

_LOOK OUT!!!_

My senses absolutely SCREAMED at me. My head whipped around in the direction they were freaking out over, and my skin crawled. I stood in the middle of the street, and a green Ford bore down at me. Shit, shit, shit! I _froze_ , fear rooting me in place like a deer in the headlights. The driver looked down, probably at his phone or something, and had no idea he would run me over unless he stopped now.

If I died again, was I going to reincarnate in another world? Or would I die for real? Time slowed down. Or, that’s how it seemed, anyway. Shit, shit, shit...

I was going to die, I was going to die, there wasn’t any time to dodge and I was going to _die_ —

A small part of me shut down the part that currently freaked the fuck out. _No_ . I was _not_ going to die. Not again. Not in a painful way like this. I growled, an almost animalistic sound rumbling out of me, and around me, it felt like the pavement and sidewalk nearby started moving downward. I could feel my arms grow hairier, bulge in size. I could feel power _rip_ through my body, bursting the clothes I had on and leaving them hanging in tatters around my arms and waist. My backpack felt WAY too small on me, hugging my arms tight and threatening to restrict circulation. I let out a defiant roar, and not quite knowing what had overcome me, I planted my feet on the ground, then shoved my hands forward.

 _CRUNCH_.

My whole body shivered with the force of the car ramming into my hands, and the sound of asphalt tearing underneath my feet filled the street. My palms dented the car from the sheer force, and I slid back a few feet, the car pushing against me. In the driver’s seat, the guy looking at his phone lurched horribly, then finally glanced up and paled. I could feel the moment he slammed on his breaks thanks to the decrease in force I had to push against, and I let out another defiant roar as I finally slid to a stop.

At last, everything calmed down, and my blood stopped pounding in my ears. Full awareness of the situation returned to me, and for a moment, I just stood there, hands still pressed into the dents they’d made in the car, shocked. When the _hell_ did I get that strong? Then I glanced down at my arms—quickly glanced back up at the windshield of the car I’d stopped, and stared.

The face and body of a gorilla stood in place of where my reflection should have been, and my arms were super bulky and hairy. My hands looked exactly like a gorilla’s.

S-Shit.

I stumbled back, shaking my head in equal parts disbelief and panic. I was a gorilla!? The hell!?

Absolutely freaking out, I turned, ran onto the sidewalk on all fours, and pounded down the road. My new, strong legs shook the cars around me as I rushed away.

This was _not_ how I wanted to spend my Tuesday!


	2. Gorillaz

“Whoa, whoa, watch out!”

“What the **––** who let that thing out of the zoo!?”

“Hey, watch it––!”

Not even sure where the hell I ran to, I dashed through the streets of Midtown like a rhino. My humongous body, awkward and clumsy, felt really weird to move around in. Trying to run on two legs just didn’t seem right and kinda hurt, but running on all fours… I didn’t know how to do it. That, plus the fact that  _ I was a fucking gorilla _ kept looping through my head and making me freak out even more, combined to produce one ape-shaped wrecking ball that accidentally knocked pedestrians aside, broke restaurant fences and tables, and basically caused mass chaos.

I almost rammed right into a baby in a stroller getting pushed by their mother, and I scrambled around them. Nearly sliding out onto the street with my immense momentum, I had to dig my feet and hands into the cement. I stopped short of the street, but it still scared one driver in a white Porsch so badly that they swung out into the other lane, and accidentally hit a yellow oncoming car on the side.

Horns blaring in the air, plus the sounds of the crash, alarmed me even more. I scurried backwards towards the sidewalk, breathing hard. Five hundred pounds of hefty, muscley gorilla body slammed into the glass wall of a Starbucks, shaking the glass. I flinched and spun my head around, staring.

Gaping back at me was the same apeish face I’d seen before. Well––granted, humans were apes due to how evolution worked, but… You get it! Less  _ human _ ! It was like my consciousness had suddenly been taken out of my body and slapped into Donkey Kong’s by some crazed mad scientist. Black fur cascaded down my body. My nose sat flat on my face, almost like someone had taken a bat to it and smashed it inward. My huge cranium stood tall and ovular. I looked like nothing short of raw, natural power.

_ “No,”  _ I whimpered, but it came out as nothing more than a grunt.

What in the hell caused me to look like this? How was it even remotely possible for a human being to suddenly transform into a being on a completely different evolutionary branch than them? This fucked with  _ everything _ we knew about biology on so many levels! Seriously, what  _ caused _ this!?

As I sat there, heart hammering away, I felt something poke my fur.

“Big monkey!” a tiny girl’s delighted voice said, and I blinked, gazing to my right; a tiny little runt of a girl who couldn’t be more than three year old absolutely beamed at me.

“Sweetie, don’t do that!” a tall woman who must’ve been the girl’s mother chided her. She wore a white designer shirt, pink lipstick, and had dirty blonde hair. She definitely had that  _ uber-rich _ feel I’d grown accustomed to as the grandson of the head of a popular tabloid magazine/webshow pandering to the anti-superhero crowd. “It might have rabies! Come on, let’s go get that water you wanted.”

_ “Well, screw you, too!” _ I growled back, though of course no words were actually said.

Then I blinked, because something about that conversation happened to spark a line of thought. My literal monkey brain realized––

_ Wasn’t the spider that bit Peter something that came from Norman Osborn’s experiments? _

And as a corollary to that, I suddenly recalled the oddly sweet water I’d drunk in Osborn’s office. ...No way. No way, that couldn’t be––Why would Norman Osborn give me a serum that contained some sort of weird evolution-breaking bullshit!? Unless… Maybe it was some sort of accident caused by my coughing as I’d asked for the water?

...Huh.

I’d gotten my powers completely by accident.

I was so worthless I couldn’t even  _ get my powers intentionally _ .

Sounds about right for me.

I sat there, completely unable to think of what to do next, for several moments. Then I heard, distantly, a vehicle park nearby, and someone walk up to me.  _ Multiple _ someones, actually.

“Holy shit, I really didn’t expect this call to be real,” someone muttered. Then, louder: “Here, gorilla, gorilla… Heeere, gorilla...”

Totally confused, my head swiveled in the direction of the voice. A few guys dressed in Central Park Zoo zookeeper getup stood there, eyeing me carefully. Their caution was definitely warranted; after all, I stood at about one and a half times their height, and my body was  _ toned _ in this form. I’d stopped a car with my bare hands. Speaking of which, something tells me that isn’t quite something gorillas could be capable of. Huh, I wonder if…

“Heeere, gorilla, gorilla…!” the guy beckoned me again, swallowing a bit and carefully stepping towards me. He set down a plate of what looked like bamboo shoots and berries. My mostly vegetarian monkey stomach rumbled at the sight, but something told me they were trying to trick me and capture me to take me to the zoo.

Someone clearly must’ve gotten the wrong idea and thought I was an escapee.

Wanting  _ none  _ of that, I swung my huge, hairy butt around and hauled ass.

I had to get home,  _ now _ .

“Hey!” the zookeepers squawked indignantly.

I sprinted down the sidewalk as hard as I could. Which turned out to be  _ surprisingly _ fast, actually. I absolutely  _ whizzed _ by all the other people on the streets, who I forced to dive to the side in order to avoid me. Camera snaps followed me a few times, and I figured my picture would be all over the internet come morning. Headline:  _ Backpack-Wearing Gorilla Tears Through Manhattan, Knocks Over Street Vendor Somehow Shittier Than the Last.  _ Truly sensational.

As I ran, out of the corner of my eye I happened to see the vehicle that the zookeepers had been driving following me in the glass window of the buildings next to me.

Shit.

Not today, fuckers!

Ahead of me was a traffic intersection. The cars to my left were all idle, waiting for the light to turn green, and a bunch of traffic ahead of me filled the lanes. I couldn’t get through it—what about getting over it? I turned on the ol’ jets even more, and just as I reached the edge of the sidewalk, fucking  _ leaped _ .

A part of me, the part that had self-preservation, thought,  _ maybe this wasn’t a good idea _ .

The reckless side of me pointed out that I’d already done it, so second thoughts were kind of late. Also—I jumped  _ high. _ My feet easily cleared the cars. Hell, my head went over the height of the traffic lights. I landed on all fours, tumbling to the floor in a heap of smelly gorilla. I’d somehow cleared all three lanes of traffic.  _ Whoa _ .

Adrenaline racing through my veins, I took off again. At least I’d managed to gain some distance from them by forcing them behind a stop light.

I rounded another corner, and was halfway down it when I looked over my shoulder and saw the zookeeper’s truck behind me  _ again _ . Fucking hell, dude. These guys weren’t letting go, huh?  _ Well, sorry, zoo guys, but I have ZERO intention of letting you take me! _

I booked it through the city, the zookeepers fighting through traffic but still managing to keep on my tail. As I ran, I had the thought that maybe I could lose them in the river? With this goal in mind, I headed towards the East River, and about ten minutes later, found myself at the Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge. Horns blared at me as I ran over the walkway next to the road, and turned my head to check if they were still behind me.

Yep. They we—why was my arm pressing into metal? Why did the sound of metal creaking rise into the air? I swiveled my head back around, and…

Oh. I must’ve started veering to the side while I turned my head, because I’d rammed straight into the side of the bridge with enough force to break clear through the railing. And now I was falling, falling through the air toward the East River below.

This had  _ not  _ been my plan.

The river quickly flung up towards my face, and I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath—but the impact never came. Instead, air rushed by me horizontally instead of vertically, and, confused as all hell, I opened my eyes…

_ Whoa _ .

I was flying!

Flying over the river, long, feathery wings flapping repeatedly where my arms should have been. I tried to laugh in pure, unadulterated surprise and disbelief; it came out as a lovely little tweet. Actually, my whole body felt smaller, and my mouth—my mouth was a beak! I was a bird; an albatross, to be precise! Thank god, too, because if it had been anything smaller, I probably wouldn’t have been able to keep my backpack on.

But at least that proved something I’d been afraid of. I could transform into different things, and I wouldn’t be stuck as a gorilla for the rest of this life.

That was good. My grandfather had been through enough in his life. He didn’t need to have his only grandson suddenly and inexplicably disappear on top of that.

...That said, I found a new problem: Flying as a bird wearing a backpack was not very easy. In fact, it kind of hurt. I needed to find a place to land and figure out how to change back. Both times I’d transformed so far, it had been because my life had been in danger. I hadn’t actually willfully transformed. Could I even transform willfully?

Hoping the answer was ‘yes,’ I decided to gain as much air as I could with several pounds on my back, and then glided the rest of the way to a tree on the edge of the river. I landed next to it and let out a little breath.

All alone now, I could finally focus.

Alright, let’s see… Maybe if I tried picturing my human self? I squeezed my eyes shut and did that, imagining how I looked as an actual person. I waited a few seconds, concentrating on this mental image, then opened my eyes… Nope, the world still looked huge around me. Still a bird.

Hmmm… Maybe…?

I tried doing that again, but this time, I also imagined my DNA shifting, turning from a bird’s DNA to a human’s DNA. A noticeable difference swept over me. My bones shifted around, my skin crawled; my feathers shrunk back into my body, and my size grew. At last, I was a human again, taking in deep breaths of air. That had… That had hurt. Ow.

Groaning, I stretched to crack my back. The breeze blowing over my skin felt nice—

Oh.

...Oops.

Uhhhh… so I  _ might’ve _ forgotten the little fact that my suit and tie got destroyed when I turned into a gorilla. And now I was totally naked, save for the few scraps of cloth still hanging onto me and the pack on my back. A furious red blush stole across my face. I  _ really _ hoped no one was watching!

I quickly dug into my backpack and took out the shirt and jeans I’d worn to school. It wasn’t ideal because my underwear was gone, but it was better than being naked. Now with some  _ actual _ clothes on my body, I stretched again and put my backpack on again.

Time to go home at last.

I found the nearest metro station, boarded the train, and rode it to the stop nearest to my grandfather’s apartment. Self-consciousness ate at me the whole way, and I kept glancing around, sure  _ someone _ knew I was commando underneath my clothes. My stop did  _ not _ arrive soon enough for my liking. I ran up to my apartment building, and rode the elevator to my family’s level.

Getting out of the elevator, I heard the TV set to the news channel. CNN played, and as I walked inside (sadly barefoot; shoes and socks were the two things I had  _ not _ had a change for), I froze.

“––and sources say the last place this gorilla was seen was the Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge. He somehow broke through the railing and was last seen falling into the river. Further investigation shows that no gorillas have broken out of any zoos in the Manhattan area, so officials say it is likely someone’s pet that escaped.”

The water ran in the sink, which turned out to be my grandfather. He washed some dishes as he listened to the news, and upon seeing me, he nodded in greeting. “Hello, Jack. Crazy world we live in, isn’t it?” He set the sponge he was cleaning with on the counter, and the plate he was cleaning in the drying rack. “Iron suits of armor flying through the sky, gorillas stopping a moving car… It’s just getting weirder and weirder every year.”

I winced; I  _ definitely _ could not tell my father that gorilla was me.

“Huh, I didn’t hear about that one,” I said, heading to the fridge and taking out some lemonade. I got a glass and poured myself some, put the lemonade back in the fridge, and took gentle sips. Mmm. Such good stuff.

“It happened while you were gone,” Grandpa said with a shrug. “Even  _ animals _ have super strength these days. Total insanity!” He angrily threw his hands into the air.

I blinked several times. “Super strength?”

Grandpa rolled his eyes. “Damn ape somehow stopped a car with its bare hands,” he grumbled. “That’s not something gorillas are normally capable of, Jack.”

I…

Huh.

Honestly, I’d been so caught up in and thrown off by all of the suddenness and chaos of the moment that I hadn’t even thought about that. But if... “There’s a gym in our apartment building, right?” I mused, scratching my chin in thought. If I really had super strength, how far did it go? “Third floor, right?”

“Yeah, it’s on the third floor,” the old head of the Daily Bugle confirmed while washing a bowl. “What’s up with you today? You usually never do much working out outside of soccer practice. and your weekend muay thai classes.”

“Just want to test my strength,” I said, which worked because it wasn’t even a lie.

He huffed, raising an eye at me but accepting the answer on face value. “...Okay, but be back in an hour. I’m making hamburgers for dinner.”

I headed back out after setting my bookbag down, and went down to the third floor. I headed into the gym and wandered over to the weights. With  _ Eye of the Tiger  _ playing in the gym speakers—an… oddly fitting thing to be playing, all things considering—I almost nervously picked up a fifty-pound weight. Well, started to, anyway, before changing my mind and deciding to test it with a hundred-pound weight. 

It felt like a  _ feather _ . It offered  _ no  _ resistance. Its weight pressed against my hand, but did  _ nothing _ , and like my grandfather had said, I did  _ not _ work out much.

...Ooookay.

I grabbed a weight bar, laid on a bench press, slid on several hundred pound weights on each end until it totaled four hundred, and tried lifting it.

Now I struggled, but it was the kind of struggle I would’ve previously felt lifting something weighing like thirty, forty, fifty pounds. Hard, definitely, and it strained my muscles, but it still felt like something I could easily do with enough effort. Even now, I could still  _ do _ it; my arms just were protesting a bit. Eyes shooting up in surprise, I placed it back on its rack, added a few more, and tried lifting a seven hundred-pound weight bar with no prior arm training.

The weights lifted half-way, before my arms gave out and dropped. My eyes widened—shit, seven hundred pounds falling on me could  _ not _ be good—and let out a loud scream of pain as the bar landed hard on my chest. Choking, I coughed and groaned. “Ow, ow, ow…” I gasped out, breathing in and out in panic. My chest burned with pain, and I heavily worried I’d broken something. I needed to get this weight off of me now, somehow.

Biting my lip, I tried to lift it up enough that I could slide myself off of the bench press. But my arms refused to get the damn weight bar more than a few inches. I… I needed to be  _ stronger _ . But how!?

_ Oh _ , wait. That’s right.

I calmed down and imagined myself transforming again. My arms suddenly grew bigger, hairier, stronger. I could see them expand, the muscles bulging out and almost doubling in size like Zoro from One Piece. I watched in weirded out awe as my hair grew fuzzier, and more of it spread across my arms. They looked just like my gorilla arms from earlier, except for some reason the  _ rest  _ of me  _ wasn’t _ turning into a gorilla. Totally shocked by this, I froze for a few seconds, before grinning.

I can do  _ partial _ transformations?

Yeah, I can work with this.

I tried lifting the weights again. This time, it rose more easily. I let out a grunt, putting in more effort, and finally managed to get it up enough that I could squirm off the bench press. I let the bar drop and winced at the sound it made as it slammed into the floor, shaking the room. Panting from the physical stress I’d put my body through, I stretched, then shook my arms a little. Then I took a few breaths in and started taking the weights off of the bar.

How much could I lift  _ with _ training if this was what I could lift  _ without _ training?

When I’d finished cleaning up after myself, I returned to the apartment, mind racing. I had powers, I had super strength… I could become a  _ superhero _ . Someone like  _ me _ could become a superhero. I could finally atone for my sins. Finally, the world had granted me an ability to actually make a difference and atone for my sins.

And here I was lying on the bed, groaning and rubbing my stomach gingerly because I’d been a dumbass and dropped a seven-hundred pound dumbbell on myself.

_ Owwwwww _ .

...Going to the hospital sucked. I did  _ not _ want to go to the hospital if I could avoid it. ...And that line of thought brought me to a realization; wasn’t there some sort of gene controlling regeneration and stuff that’s turned off in human DNA but isn’t for some animals? Wait, more specifically, cat purring can help mend injured bones, right? I closed my eyes, concentrated, and my throat more similar to a cat’s.  _ Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. _

After a while, I started feeling more relaxed and my stomach didn’t hurt as much. I let out a sigh, changing my throat back… but damn, while I didn’t hurt as much, I was  _ starving _ .

But still...

I could do something instead of sitting on my ass and doing nothing while waiting for dinner.

Swallowing as I entered my room and booted up my high-tier Oscomputer. Doubt rose within me as I did, even as I began to research animal-related things to call myself. I also pulled up Photoshop and started brainstorming hero costume desi…

Hold up a moment.

My clothes didn’t transform with me.

Hmmm, this could be an issue…

After brainstorming solutions to this problem, I finally arrived at a very unique solution. First of all, I happened to remember that character from MHA, Mirio Togata, who could make his body impermeable. His clothes normally didn’t change with him, but after making a special fabric containing his cells, he was able to have it transform with him. Further, I had the ability to turn into different animals, which meant I could turn into a spider and create my own spidersilk!

Granted, this sounded pretty damn impossible and farfetched—but as impossible and farfetched as someone able to turn into multiple animals…? This world ran on  _ superhero movie _ logic, nothing was too impossible.

Alright, with that idea in mind, what costume could I use?

Hmmm… I wanted a cape, even if Edna would roll in her grave as a result. Capes were cool, man! My color scheme would be important, too… Maybe an earthy kinda look would be good? I tapped a pen against my chin in thought.

And my name…

...God damn it, I was mad that Beast Boy had already been taken. Shit. Therianthropy is the ability to turn into animals… Therian, then, maybe? Nah, that’d make me sound too much like those people who identify as animals. Fucking weirdos, and they undermine the transgender movement… I do  _ not _ want to be linked to Therians. Okay, what, then?

I blinked as I clicked through Google, looking for animal transformers and animal-related characters for ideas.

Pan.

The Greek god of the wild and animals, among other things… That was a pretty cool name! I grinned a little, feeling a little excitement brewing in me for the first time in… God, a  _ long _ time. How cool would this be!?

But… could I really do anywhere near good enough of a job..? Or would I fuck things up so badly that Thanos wouldn’t need to destroy half of all life on the Earth? Oh, shit,  _ Thanos _ ! How the hell could someone like  _ me _ face off against someone like  _ that _ !? He wrecked the Hulk with his  _ bare hands _ !

Swallowing nervously, I rolled my chair away from my computer, licking my lips nervously. I… I didn’t want to die again. Dying had hurt like  _ hell _ the first time around. I didn’t want to do anything that would cause me to face  _ that _ kind of thing again… Even if there wasn’t much purpose for me being here, as long as I was here, I wanted to avoid as much pain as I could. And if I did nothing at all, I’d still have a 50/50 chance of surviving Thanos— _ without  _ the added threat of dying to a supervillain with the same or similar powers as me, or who was motivated by perceived wrongdoing of Tony Stark.

My fingers restlessly tapped against my armchair as memories of my death flashed through my head, and I desperately shoved them to the back of my mind. A terrible shiver ran down my spine and phantom pain crept through my nerves. I felt like I was going to be sick.

Thankfully, my grandfather shouting, “Dinner’s ready, JJ!” shook me out of the almost trance I’d put myself in.

I got up, shaking the chills out of my body, and went down to eat.


	3. The Charlie Question

_“Hello, this is your pilot speaking. We’ve entered an unexpected storm, and may experience some slight turbulence… Please remain calm and put your seatbelts on, we should be leaving the storm shortly…”_

_“Whoa, looks pretty dark out there…”_

_BOOM!_

_“Ouch, that flash really hurt my eyes! Did you see that lightning bolt? It looked so close to the plane!”_

My eyes shot open all of a sudden, and I stared up at my ceiling, my entire body trembling. My skin felt clammy. A cold sweat clung to my pores. The short, rapid inhales and exhales I managed to take shook, and I swallowed down some bile that threatened to bubble up into my mouth. Light poured into my room through the window to my right and glared over my bed, causing me to blink rapidly in pain. Owww, my _eyes_! Who left my blinds open?

Oh, right, me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, groaning at the red glow remaining in my retinas even with my eyelids closed, and swallowed again before taking several long breaths. This had happened to me several times before, waking up and remembering _that_. Exhaustion crept in the back of my head; whenever I had that dream, I never got a good night’s sleep. At last, though, I felt calm enough to climb out of bed, head over to the bathroom attached to my room, and splash some cold water over my face.

“JJ, you okay?” my grandfather’s voice called into my room. “I heard you screaming. Was it another nightmare?”

“Y-Yeah…” I called back, gripping my sink and staring down at the water as it drained. I still felt like I might throw up, but other than that I felt fine again. “It was another nightmare. Sorry if I woke you up, Da—Grandpa.” With how much my grandfather cared for and raised me in place of my parents, it almost felt like he was my real dad sometimes, even though my real dad had died long ago. I’d sometimes accidentally call him dad, even.

After drying my face and then brushing my teeth, I left the bathroom and pulled some clothes on. I wore a dark purple Aeropostale shirt, a blue denim jacket, and blue denim jeans. Ready for the day, I emerged from my room and walked to the kitchen, where a bowl of cereal and some toast with butter and jam, as well as a glass of orange juice, were laid out for me. Grandfather was already eating his Cheerios. A rerun of an old M.A.S.H. episode played on the TV.

Jonah Jameson’s eyes flicked from the TV to me as he slipped some cereal into his mouth. “You don’t look so good,” he observed casually, though I could sense the concern underneath the words. “Are you sure you don’t need a therapist?”

“If we’ve had it once, we’ve had this conversation a million times,” I grumbled, roughly kicking my chair out enough for me to sit in it. I plopped down hard on it. The chair creaked badly, like its legs would break, and I blinked rapidly. ...Maybe I needed to be careful with my own strength for a bit until I got used to it. “I _don’t_ need a therapist.”

Despite the milk they sat in, my cereal tasted dry and lifeless.

“...If you’re sure,” my grandfather sighed, tapping his spoon against his bowl before taking another scoop of cereal. “How’d the interview yesterday go?”

“The interview went alright,” I said, shrugging. “Osborn’s office was _super_ cool. He had his own U.I. and everything. It was neat getting to talk to him, too. I think my paper’s gonna be great.”

“That’s good.” My grandfather looked pleased as he ate. “You’re a fantastic writer, Jack. Some day, you’re going to inherit the Daily Bugle, and you’ll do great things with it, I’m sure.”

I felt guilty, because I didn’t want to tell him that I’d rather prefer not having my identity connected to a paper that got sued for libel by Tony Stark. At least, not any more connected than I already was. “Sure, grandpa,” I mumbled noncommittally. “I’m sure it’ll be fun.” I went quiet a little, gazing down at my cereal. “...Sorry I make you worry for me all the time,” I added quietly.

Grandpa blinked, looking thrown off. “Wha… JJ, why…? Of course I would worry, I —!” The phone rang at that moment, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. I blinked, staring at him in total lack of understanding, and he sighed. “Sorry, gotta take this call.” He picked up the phone, answering it. “Yeah, hello, what is it, Robbie? Sorry, what?” Interest flared in his eyes. “The Hulk’s on the news again? He did what!?”

I tuned the conversation out, finishing my meal and my orange juice before returning to my room. I printed out the outline of the suit I’d been working on, stuffed it in one of my binders, and slipped the binder back in my bookbag before heading out to the elevator. Grandfather was still on the phone talking to his employee, Robbie Robertson, as I left, and he gave me a single nod goodbye.

Nothing much of interest happened on the way to school, though my senses did kinda freak out a bit when a painter’s paint bucket fell near me.

School was another matter.

Though doubt still nagged at me, I couldn’t deny the excitement that potentially being a superhero brought. I kept sketching supersuit designs throughout class. Still, though, even after I settled on a design, I would still need a way to actually _make_ the suit. This in mind, I started thinking of how to do that, and an answer came… pretty much by accident, really.

When lunch came about, I sat next to Nick with my tray full of three chicken tenders, french fries, a bowl of applesauce, and a glass of apple juice. I noticed him staring somewhere, and followed his gaze to the school beauty, Leanne Hahn. She was a grade above us, and was super pretty with her pristine ebony skin, hazel eyes, and dreadlocks.

I rose an eyebrow at Nick, amused. “Got a crush you haven’t been telling me about, bro?”

“Aw, shut up, man,” he laughed, rolling his eyes and shoving me lightly. But something about the laugh didn’t quite sound fully there, and I blinked as I saw him gazing at the wall oddly. “Everyone and their brother has a crush on Leanne.”

“Not hard to see why,” I said with a shrug. I popped a french fry in my mouth. “She dresses better than you, at least.”

Nick shoved me again. “Jerk,” he said without any heat, though he still didn’t seem to quite be meeting my eyes.

“Bitch,” I replied, fondly. Hey, we were both Supernatural fans; what can I say? “Hey, is there anything—?”

I got cut off by a feminine voice. “Speaking of Leanne, did you know she’s making her homecoming dress this year?” a girl next to Nick said, leaning forward. “She showed it to me, and it looks _beautiful_. Her mom’s a fashion designer, and apparently they’ve been sewing together since she could pick up and thread a needle.”

I paused, blinking. “I… huh. No, I didn’t know that.”

With that information in my head, I started thinking—I could ask her to make it for me! But, wait, then she’d know my secret identity, and that could be troublesome for both of us. In that case, I could just have her teach me how to sew, and make my own suit.

Leanne Hahn, while being the school beauty, was a bit of an odd case. She didn’t fit the average dynamic of what you’d imagine from the popular girl whose mom is a fashion designer. Although her family had a lot of wealth, she wasn’t preppy and was more down to earth. Hell, she seemed to reject her family’s lifestyle almost altogether, preferring more of a punk, rebellious look. She liked to wear this ratty green jacket, even during the summer, and preferred black shirts and ripped-knee jeans. She had her hair dyed with blonde highlights.

Despite this, she still had a really pretty face, and her sassy, no-nonsense personality oddly seemed to draw people in. Even all of her purposefully flawed clothes came together to make an interestingly attractive creation. Though admittedly, despite the fact that I could recognize her good fashion sense and good looks, I was one of the few dudes in the school not attracted to her.

That’s probably why I got a few odd looks when I walked up to her after classes ended, as she headed out towards the doors.

“Hey, Leanne,” I said, jogging up to her from behind.

She paused and glanced over her shoulder, pigtails flicking around. “Oh, uh, hey. Jackie, right?”

I cringed internally. “Uh, yeah, but… just call me JJ, please.” I coughed, scratching my cheek. This felt… awkward to ask a girl. “Hey, uh, I heard that you can sew?”

Leanne blinked at the statement, nodding and furrowing her brow. “Uh, well… yeah, I can, not that I enjoy it.” ...Yeah, that made sense with what I knew of her. “It’s too _girly_ for my tastes. Why are ya askin’?”

I hesitated, feeling my cheeks warm up a bit. “Um… because I… wanted to ask you if you could teach me?”

Whatever Leanne had been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been that answer. She stared at me like a fish out of water, blinking rapidly before coughing into her palm. “Oh! Oh, God. Sorry. I bet I just made that super awkward, huh?” she rambled, shifting about from foot to foot. “Er, yeah, sure, I could do that. I mean… I don’t know how good of a teacher I’ll be, but sure, yeah! ‘S cool that you’re not bogged down by stupid gender roles, and—know what, I’ll just stop talking now.”

“Uh…” Thrown off by how unexpectedly awkward Leanne was, I nodded slowly. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Sooo… here, let’s exchange numbers so we can set up a time for me to get some lessons from you.” I took off my backpack and pulled out a binder with paper in it, and tore off a little piece. I pulled a Sharpie pen from my pocket and scribbled my phone number on it, then gave her the binder and pen.

“Oh—Yeah! Definitely!” Nodding, Leanne scrawled her number down in stiff, non-loopy writing. “Well, gotta go. I’m seeing a horror movie with a friend soon. See ya.”

“See ya!” I agreed, taking my things back and slipping them into the backpack. “Have fun, and thanks. That’s a huge help.”

“Hey, no problem.” She waved casually as she returned heading out of Midtown High. Finished with that, I rushed over to the locker room next to the soccer field for soccer practice.

Once soccer practice was over, I took a shower in the locker room and headed out into the city. I wandered around, looking for any signs of trouble going on. From a street perspective, it was hard to find anything, though.

While I walked around, I happened to come across Nick studying on a rock in Central Park.

“Hey, Nick,” I greeted with a little wave.

Nick glanced up at me, smiling—but like how his laugh wasn’t altogether _there_ earlier, his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey,” he said, nodding and flicking his eyes back to the book. I read the cover, raising a brow; never knew Nick was a _Percy Jackson_ fan.

“Everything okay?” I asked, knitting my eyebrows. Nick swallowed.

“I—yeah. Everything’s okay,” he mumbled, finger rubbing along the bottom of the spine of his book.

“Nick, you’re a terrible liar. You’ve been acting odd all day.”

My best friend swallowed, then nodded slowly. “O… Okay…” he said softly. He glanced at the book again, maybe to see which page he was on, and then closed his book. “Listen, I’m only telling you this because you’re my best friend. You gotta promise not to tell anyone, okay?”

“Okay,” I said slowly, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure. Okay.”

“It’s…” Nick sighed, staring despondently at the ground. “It’s my older brother. He’s an engineer, and he used to own his own business in Hell’s Kitchen. But it got destroyed during the Incident, by the Hulk. He’s been… really messed up since then. He hasn’t talked to any of us in a while, and he’s been making some… bad choices. I’m just… last night, since it was his birthday, I went to his apartment… It was totally trashed, dude. And there was blood on the wall, and he was… nowhere to be found. I reported it to the police, of course… but I’m worried something bad happened to him. Something _really_ bad.”

Concern washed over me, and I sat against the rock, silent for a minute. “Dude, that sucks,” I said at last. “I’m sorry, man. I hope he’s okay.” I remembered meeting Nick’s older brother, Charlie, when I hung out at Nick’s for Christmas two years ago. He was a pretty cool guy, and had some massive brains on him.

“Thanks,” Nick mumbled. “Like I said, don’t tell anyone. You’ve met him—he’s a good guy. I don’t want… I don’t want anyone thinking he’s in some kind of street gang, or something. Because he’s _not_.”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone,” I promised, throwing him a soft smile.

“...Thanks, JJ,” he said, smiling back.

Walking away through Central Park, I worried over Charlie a lot. I remembered him pretty clearly; once, my old Playstation 3 had broken down, and he’d fixed it for me in ten minutes flat with just the few parts we had laying around in the Jameson apartment.

Dude was an absolute _genius_ when it came to electronics. He’d gotten offers from both Stark Industries and Oscorp, but had turned down both of them because he preferred owning his own place. Plus, he didn’t want to join those “corrupt assholes tearing our city apart with their competition.”

I hoped everything was okay.

Shaking my head, I bit my lip. What could I do? Well… I could try to figure out what had happened to Charlie on my own. Lord knew the police in this city were corrupt as hell and paid off by tons of different groups. I didn’t trust them one bit.

Goal set, I headed off to Charlie’s apartment.

Charlie lived in an apartment building off the corner of West 43rd and 11th Avenue. His old electronics shop, _Hardman Tech_ , was a couple blocks down, on West 41st between 11th and 10th Avenues.

The building itself was an eight-story brownstone, nestled between _McCarne’s Pub and Eatery_ and a Western Union branch specifically geared towards things like money orders and other international monetary transactions. The only reason I knew its location at all was because Nick had brought me to the previously mentioned pub for lunch once, and had said that’s why he knew about the pub. If I remembered correctly, Charlie’s apartment faced 43rd and had a window you could access via a fire escape.

As I stared across the street at the apartment building in question, a parking complex rose up behind me to the left, towards the Hudson, and directly behind me was a brick wall. Not many people walked around here, but I guessed there were security cameras on the apartment building, and I didn’t want to be seen heading in. Thusly, before I quite reached the apartment building, I turned around and ducked around the nearest corner, hiding behind a dumpster. I slung my backpack off and stuffed it under the dumpster. I quickly took off my clothes, shoved them in the bag, and before anyone could see my naked, I took a deep breath and transformed into a bird.

Recalling how it felt to fly instinctively, I jumped off the ground and flapped my wings, catching a draft. Propelled into the air, I flew up towards the apartment, still marvelling at how I could actually fly. I noticed that the window looking out on 43rd had a massive, jagged hole in it, and glided through it. I turned into a cat and landed on all fours on the head of a torn-up couch.

Nick was right. Charlie’s apartment was an absolute mess. Black and yellow caution tape sealed off the door, and a bookshelf had fallen down, books, games, and game stations spilled everywhere. A broken glass of what smelled like wine lay over the scuffed-up carpet between the couch and shattered TV. An ugly splatter of red blood covered part of the north wall, standing out against the light grey paint. A chair, its back barely hanging onto the rest of it, lay crumpled on the wooden floor near the fire escape, and a smearing of dried blood covered a portion of the fire escape railing, too.

What the _hell_ had happened here?

Growing increasingly worried for Charlie Hardman’s health, I carefully stepped around the mess, searching for any evidence of a reason. All logic dictated there had been a fight here. A really dangerous one, by the way part of the wall of the kitchen had been torn open, revealing the hall on the other side. But who’d been trying to kill Charlie, and why?

Feeling sick in my stomach, I headed through the kitchen to the other side, where a door slumped partially off its hinges, some blood staining its edge. Through the door was a bedroom. The sheets on the bed were all torn to hell, with what looked like _bullet holes_ peppering them. Dear God, someone really _had_ been trying to kill Charlie.

Swallowing, I glanced around with my cat eyes, searching desperately for anything out of the ordinary. Besides all the broken shit and blood, I mean.

That’s when my eyes happened to land on the wall.

It was a small thing, a barely noticeable thing, but a knife stuck out of the wall, just above the counter of a bureau and mirror. And it looked like a piece of cloth had been stabbed into the knife. Leaping up onto the counter, I carefully reached out and tilted the cloth up so I could see it more clearly.

The cloth was all black and almost scaly-patterned, with white highlights forming the scale designs. And in the center of the piece of cloth was a bright orange, almost spray paint design of a head with snake hair.

What the hell? Ooookay. This was weird.

Even weirder was the knife itself. It looked… pretty wicked, not like a normal knife at all. It had a blade formed of black metal, and a button on the handle. Pressing the button gave me a bit of a fright, because the blade suddenly glowed with bright orange power on each side. Whoa! This blade looked super high-tech! And kind of… alien.

Furrowing my brow, I took a mental picture of it and the design of the cloth, filing both away back in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut, making sure I could recall the design, and once I felt confident enough in my ability to do so, I quickly made my way back out into the living room. However, as I did, I saw some motion out of the corner of my eye, which made me jump.

Shit! Whoever did it is back!

I scrambled away, body instinctively turning… but seeing that it was just a couple of police ducking under the tape made me breathe out in relief. They may have been corrupt dickheads, but at least they were safer to my health than whoever did this to Charlie Hardman.

“Huh, weird that there’s a cat here,” one of the cops, a rather overweight guy with a big old beer belly, muttered to his partner.

“Yeah, but not as weird as Hardman getting involved with _Tartarus_ ,” the other cop, a more Asian-looking guy, sighed, shaking his head. “You sure we got all evidence of their involvement?”

“Buncha crazy bastards,” the first guy muttered, cracking his back. “Yeah, yeah, though they certainly didn’t make it _easy_ on us. Leaving a bunch of their weapons around, who the hell do they think they are?”

Tartarus… whoa. Some kind of secret villain group, maybe? Mulling it over, I bit my lip. What had Charlie gotten himself into?

With a lot to chew on, I leaped out of the window, turned into a bird, and flew back towards my stuff. This was getting pretty crazy...


	4. Testing the Waters

“Hey, Grandpa, have you ever heard of Tartarus?”

The question came as my grandfather and I sat watching football together. While I didn’t quite enjoy watching football, I did it to humor him, since he loved it. He’d make up a big old bowl of mixed Tostito’s and pretzels, with a little jar of home-made salsa for the chips, and every touchdown the team playing against the Giants scored, he’d groan and whine, while every touchdown the Giants made, he’d leap to his feet and pump his fist. Seeing JJJ get so worked up over football amused me more than the actual game itself.

My grandfather almost choked on a salsa-covered chip he was chewing.

“Tartaru—” He paused and looked at me funny. “You mean that place in the Greek underworld, right?” The expression he wore seemed like he was pleading for me to be talking about that.

“Er, no,” I said, coughing awkwardly into my fist. “I mean, do you know if there’s a group called that here in New York City?”

As a journalist who loved covering anything superhero or supervillain-related, I figured he’d be more likely to know than most other people. Judging from the way he frowned at the TV, it certainly seemed like he did. “...JJ, where did you hear about that?”

“Uh—” Shit. “I, uh, was walking by a police officer near a crime scene and overheard him mention something like it to his friend?” It wasn’t even a lie, not entirely, anyway.

“Never mix up with those people, you hear me, JJ?” he murmured, tapping his fingers against the armrest. “They’re…  _ dangerous _ people. I only know about them because of my investigative journalism, but from what I’ve found out… it’s not anything good. Seems like they used to be a small-time drug gang in the Bronx. Weren’t anything out of the ordinary back then, just the average, you know? Then the Incident happened, those aliens invaded, and… of course, a bunch of their technology got left scattered around the city after they were destroyed. You know all that. Well, apparently, these people got their hands on some alien tech, and somehow, started making leaps and bounds in the weaponry department. Who knows how they’ve been doing it, but they’ve been mass producing super powerful street weapons like no one’s business and bringing in large amounts of money promising criminals powerful armor and weapons. Apparently, they hit a dry period where production just… halted recently, but they still have enough of the stuff that they themselves are… a force to be reckoned with. So don’t mix up with them.”

My mouth opened, then closed.

That… actually answered a lot of things.

Charlie  _ aced _ anything technological. He could fix a car, troubleshoot your laptop, build an iPad, assemble a 4K TV in his sleep (yes, they had those this early in this version of Earth), and pleeenty more. There’s a reason he had his own tech shop.

One of those police officers had mentioned that Charlie had gotten mixed up with Tartarus. While I’d assumed until now he’d just been talking about the attack on the apartment, I now wondered if it wasn’t something deeper. With Charlie’s deep understanding of technology, it could easily be the case that they roped him into building their tech. I could definitely see him being able to understand alien technology. And maybe he decided, at last, that he wanted nothing to do with them any longer, and because of that, they attacked his apartment and kidnapped him… or killed him to silence him.

...Ohhh God.

I felt like I was gonna be sick. Poor Nick. Poor  _ Charlie _ .

But what could I possibly do? Without a lead as to where Tartarus was, other than the Bronx, I didn’t know how I could find him. And it sounded as though the group’s been paying off the police, so I couldn’t expect help from them.

...Then again, despite the negative public perception thanks to the anti-super hero propaganda spouted out by my grandfather’s paper, in the journalism world, JJJ was considered pretty influential. He’d exposed his fair number of criminal organizations in the day, and had done a lot of honest journalism work that not a lot of people gave him credit for. Because of this, Grandpa had a lot of contacts I could potentially use… or maybe I could potentially do some snooping around in the police office as a fly or something…?

Hmmm…

Narrowing my eyes, I got up and headed to my room. Either way, regardless of what I decided to do, I needed to get some street practice under my belt. I’d never been in actual fights before outside of muay thai tournaments.

Nervousness settled in my bones. Was I doing this? Was I setting my life on the line, purposefully bringing myself closer to brushing with death a second time?

My legs throbbed with ghost pain, and I quickly shoved the memory of what had happened to me aside for now. I had enough on my plate at the moment; my trauma could take a rest for a while. I walked past my desk and open, sleeping laptop, past my bed, and to my northern window. I pushed it open, took a breath, and closed my eyes.

I’d come up with an idea to hide my identity even without a mask while working on the design for my suit. It was time to utilize it. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and, concentrating, used my new powers to turn my head more apeish than human. I also thickened out my main body by giving myself gorilla muscles to make it harder for anyone to recognize my body structure, and applied spider stickiness to my skin, which would hopefully mean I could stick to walls like Spider-Man. Remaining as calm as I could, I reached out, touched the walls, and tried pulling my hand off of it; my hand remained stuck. I sucked in another deep breath, and managed to pull away.

This could be useful.

Swallowing, I carefully got out onto my balcony, climbed up the side of my apartment building’s wall using my stickiness, scooted over so that I was hanging above space instead of a balcony, and, ignoring that tiny rational part of me that screamed how bad of an idea this was at the insane part, and kicked off the building.

For a moment, I simply hung in space, arms flailing instinctively as my heart jumped a hundred feet.

Then it plunged into the center of the Earth, and a terrified scream tore out of my lungs as gravity snatched me up and yanked me downwards.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” I shouted, mouth dry from yelling so loud and so hoarsely. The wind immediately ripped the sound out of my mouth the nanosecond it escaped my lips, and I could hardly even hear myself make it. Panic rose in my chest as quickly as the ground rose to meet me. Memories of the last time I’d been in free fall came crashing through my head. Panting, crying, I twisted in midair, and saw the ground only a handful of feet away—

_ Not. Like. This. _

_ Too _ similar.

I  _ fucking refused. _

Throwing my arms out, my scream turned from pure fear to pure defiance. For some reason, my mind jumped to flying squirrels, and flying squirrel-like patagium stretched over my wrist and ankle. I began gliding, my descent slowing down as my momentum changed from mostly vertical to horizontal. Blinking rapidly (it was kinda weird that I’d chosen that transformation, after all), since my panic started dying down and I had more rational control, I quickly transformed the patagium into eagle wings, and, in relief, discovered that my wings changed size in accordance with the size of my body.

They tore a hole in my pink California shirt, the one with the palm trees and sunset on it, but it was a small price to pay to, you know,  _ not die _ . Again.

I caught a draft and it propelled me up into the air, over a brick building. The momentum from my fall carried me clear over the block, petering out as I dipped over the sidewalk towards a McDonald’s. My arc curved downward, and I flapped my wings in a panic, but no drafts presented themselves.

Uh-oh.

_ Bonk. _

I slammed face-first into the golden arches billboard, and stuck to it all spread-eagled for a moment. Funny, since I had eagle wings, the insane part of me observed.

Then I peeled off it like a cartoon character and fell hard onto the ground.

An old lady eeped and backed away quickly, one hand over her heart.

“Owww… everything hurts…” I complained, cold sweat hanging off my skin. Soreness ached under my skin, throbbing dully throughout my nervous system. It didn’t feel like I’d broken anything, which if I’d believed in a God, I would’ve considered a miracle. (And no, Thor didn’t count. He wasn’t supernatural, he was a natural, living being. An alien.) I didn’t believe in God, so I recognized it for the simple luck it was.

Still.

_ Owwwww _ .

“A little help, anybody?” I groaned out, rubbing my poor head, and only succeeded in scaring the old lady I’d almost fell upon even more and making her run off as fast as her little old legs could carry her. It wasn’t every day a buff-looking person with a California shirt, eagle wings, and an ape head spoke to you in the young voice of a fifteen year old kid, after all.

And that brought me to another realization; I could still speak like this. Probably because I still had a human vocal box. Hmm. Interesting idea.

Despite my weary plea, any pedestrians carefully scooted around me.

“Neat, thanks, America. Great country.”

Little shits.

Tenderly, painfully, I picked myself up off the sidewalk. I shook myself a little, stretched, tensed, and took off running down the sidewalk, then jumped and flapped my wings. This time I managed to take off. I heard people shout in surprise as they watched, and I thought I heard a few snaps of phone cameras.

You know, flying would a lot more fun if every part of me wasn’t screaming bloody murder.

I soared through the skies of New York, flapping over the cars below me and between the majestic buildings of the city. I turned my eyes to eagle eyes so I could see further; with how illuminated the city was, I didn’t exactly need extra night vision right now. I flew around for around five, ten minutes with nothing forthcoming, but as my pain died down thanks to some convenient purring, I pondered how useful my power was for navigating New York City. It was about as useful as Spider-Man’, if not moresos; speaking of, I didn’t need his stickiness anymore, so I transformed back.

...Huh, I was beginning to feel kinda tired, and it wasn’t because of the physical activity or the pain.

Weird…

As I considered the strangeness of that, I finally happened to spot a crime.

Several people in black ski masks and leather jackets were trying to break into the Abercombie & Fitch across from Trump Tower.

_...Ew _ . Trump Tower. Just the name rang horrid on my tongue ever since my past life. I shuddered a little. Why couldn’t they be trying to break into Trump Tower? Then at least I could turn a blind eye. Just kidding. I wouldn’t… but I might have considered it.

I lowered myself carefully by gliding down, then, only fifteen feet above them, fell the rest of the way and landed in the classic superhero pose. “Sorry, fellas,” I said as casually as a guy who’d almost fallen to his (second) death twenty minutes earlier could. “Just… dropping in!”

“What the hell, a kid?” one of them muttered, turning… only to pause and gape at me. “What the—who are…  _ what _ are you!?”

“New hero on the block,” I said with a light shrug, cracking my knuckles. “Call me Pan.”

“...Pan?” They glanced at each other, baffled. “...Like for cooking?”

“... _ No _ , man,” I sighed, slumping over and palming my face. “Like—the god of animals, you know? Pan?”

The robbers froze.

“Shit, we got a new god on the block!?” another of them yelped. “Aw, nah, nah, man, I did  _ not _ sign up for this!”

“Wha—? No, I’m not an actual—” I began protesting, blinking rapidly, before shaking my head and sliding into a fighting stance. “Know what? Just… let’s just get this over with, okay? You boys picked the wrong night to try to rob an A&F.”

Realizing they weren’t getting out of this except through me, they got in formation, and several of the group pulled out guns. My senses went haywire, screaming at me in warning, and in a sudden fright, I threw myself to the side, rolling over hard cement to avoid the bullets that streamed past me. My heart pounded; I’d just been two seconds away from death by gun.

Quickly getting back up to my feet, I leaped into the air, twisted, and slammed my foot into the side of the nearest robber’s head. I held back a lot, since I knew I was stronger, but a satisfying crunch still rose up into the city. I dodged to the side as my senses warned me of oncoming danger, and a taller robber’s fist flew at my big ol’ monkey head. Like a dancer, I spun away, and I smacked my open palm up to knock his arm away and knock  _ him _ off-balance, then connected three rapid punches against him; one on his belly, another on his right chest, and a third on his left shoulder. He tumbled backwards, out cold.

More gunfire had me ducking, but one bullet clipped through my wings. I let out a cry of pain, the appendage bending tenderly, and I swung my arms back loosely before kicking off the ground and launching myself forward. Trapping the shooter’s head between all four of my limbs, I bent forward, and slammed my knees and elbows into the sides of his face. He stumbled backwards, and I landed easily. Adrenaline flowing through me from having been shot at multiple times, I spun and roundhouse kicked him unconscious.

The fifth and final robber backed away from me slowly, fear swelling in his eyes. The thought of joining his friends on the ground must not have sat too well with him, because instead of shooting at me more, he dropped his gun, turned, and fled.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I muttered, and sprinted after him.

He may have been older and taller, but my powers made me completely outpace him. In seconds, I’d caught up to him, grabbed the back of his jacket, and elbowed him in the face.

K.O.

The poor guy crumpled like a sack of potatoes. I winced sympathetically. That had to hurt. Bet he’d be feeling that one in the morning.

...I needed to do something about my shot wing. Wincing from the pain that I could now feel stronger thanks to the adrenaline wearing off, I transformed my wings away. When the pain went away, it brought me pause. I did stumble a little, and brought a hand up to my head. God, why was I tired? And why was I  _ hungry _ ? I turned around, gazed at the five robbers laying knocked out on the ground, and just kinda… stared.

Whoa. I’d done this.

Maybe I was more cut out for this kinda job than I’d thought, after all.

A disbelieving laugh bubbling out of me, I swallowed, rubbed my face, and quickly ran. I grew wings again, noting with some surprise that these ones weren’t injured, and flew back to my apartment. When I landed on the balcony, I canceled my transformations and stumbled back in, dizzy. Whoa. I was tired and hungry as  _ hell _ .

I headed to the kitchen first, my exhaustion causing me to stumble into the wall and drawers a few times, and wondered what I should eat. My eyes landed on a fresh loaf of bread in a plastic bag.

...I paused, shrugged, and tore off some.

The entire thing was gone before I knew it, but damn if I didn’t feel better already. I narrowed my eyes. Was there some sort of connection there? ...How exactly was I able to transform, anyway? What did it do to me each time I did so? How did the transformations gain the energy they needed to work? Was the exhaustion and how starving I’d felt directly caused by how many transformations I’d used today in comparison to other times?

It made some sense, anyway. I didn’t have any actual experimenting done, so I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded reasonable enough. I figured I’d have to watch that and be sure to eat enough.

Still… mulling over the night’s events, I felt pretty happy with myself, for like, the first time in a long time. I’d actually managed to stop a crime, which was… well, more than the average person could say. And I’d gotten my name out there. When those robbers were interviewed my name would be known. And the only real injury I’d gotten was a shot wing, which my powers seemed to negate. (I wondered how far this extended to. I couldn’t see it allowing me to completely regrow a torn-off wing, for example.)

Smiling, I stretched, yawned, and went off to bed… and of course, my good mood couldn’t carry over.

I dreamed of falling.


	5. Under Attack

A week passed after my debut. The Internet went abuzz after the thieves told the police about the “god” that attacked and stopped them. I saw people posting things like, _So how the hell did we get an appearance of Pan before Zeus?_ and even a mock Facebook group event suggesting that groups of people go search Long Island for signs of Camp Half-Blood. I didn’t know whether to feel honored that people genuinely thought that I was a god, or to be annoyed that a non-existent deity was getting credit for the work that _I’d_ done.

I had mixed feelings.

Over the course of the week, I finished writing my article about the Osborn interview, and began sewing lessons with Leanne. A few things on that; sewing was a _lot_ more difficult than I’d given it credit for. It took a lot more dexterity and precision than I’d ever thought, and I pricked myself with my needle a lot. Thankfully, I had my animal powers, so I didn’t have holes all over my fingers for long, but it still took a lot of getting the hang of. When I finally managed to successfully sew the first piece of cloth together, though, it felt awesome.

In between sewing lessons and homework, I went out and flew around the city, searching for as much crime as I could—and doing whatever odd tasks people needed help with. I came across one guy whose car broke down, and he got stranded two hours from his house. I flew him home in thirty minutes.

The expected J.J.J. articles started coming in at the end of the week. Oh, it was his usual spiel— _“Pan; God or Menace?”_ —but seeing my picture grace the front page of the Daily Bugle hurt. More than I thought it would, actually.

I didn’t go out superheroing the next day.

A couple days later, however, I was out on the town again, and this time I headed over towards the Bronx. I kept an eye out for any suspicious activity, stopped a few assaults and robbers, and looked out for Tartarus. Nothing seemed off, though I did feel like I was being watched.

Oddly enough, the feeling of being watched remained a few days later when I patrolled around Harlem, away from the Bronx. I wondered if it was Tartarus or something else.

The second Sunday after my debut was when things started going to shit.

I was out patrolling the city again when a sizable explosion rocked the city a street away from me. The sound sent me reeling in surprise, and I almost smacked into a high-rise before I corrected myself. I spun around quickly in the direction of the sound, senses going off and warning me of oncoming danger. A shockwave rolled through the air, and I gaped at the sight of a guy barreling through the air at me, covered in a suit of stainless-steel armor with an orange glow beneath it.

The dude’s face was covered with a mask like that of the Shocker’s from the Spider-Man PS4 game. Its color scheme was all wrong, though. Instead of gold and burnt orange, the design was gray and black. Even the stainless-steel armor had black highlights painted along the arms, legs, and torso.

Eyes widening as an electric gauntlet on the dude’s arm swung towards me, I flipped into a nosedive and let gravity take over. The gauntlet passed over me, but as my eyes flicked back up into the air, another shockwave burst forth. And now I saw what had caused the earlier shockwave, and likely the explosion on the street; my attacker had a circular arm guard with from which he released energy blasts that he used to launch himself through the air.

I gulped, twisted in the air, and used my muay thai training to kick my leg into his arm, parrying it to the side. He tumbled away through the air past me, but pointed his arm guard behind him. Like a discount Bakugou, a huge propulsion of energy and air shot out from the guard and launched him at me AGAIN; this time, I was more prepared and swung out of my nose dive to soar up into the air and over his angle of flight.

“What the hell, man!?” I barked, heart racing. “Why are you attacking me!?”

“Nothing personal, man,” he shouted back as he prepared another air blast. “Having you hanging around the Bronx is just bad for sales. Tartarus sends their regards!”

Tartarus—shit, assuming this guy _was_ the Shocker, did this mean instead of working for Toomes, he was working for Tartarus now? And Jesus Christ, how advanced were these guys if they were making tech like this? This was a _problem_.

“Tartarus, huh?” I said, narrowing my eyes and diving away from another air launch and swipe of that deadly-looking gauntlet. “I’ve heard about you guys. What’d you do with Charlie Hardman?”

“Charlie Hardman?” I couldn’t tell, but I thought the dude was grinning behind the mask. He landed on a building surprisingly gracefully and pointed his arm behind him as I flapped in place in the air. I heard a low thrum that got gradually louder and louder; shit, was he charging something up? “Oh, you are _so_ not in-the-know. And here I thought old Osborn would’ve told you all about us!”

“Osborn?”

The name drop threw me off for a moment as I wondered why the hell he would have thought I’d be working for Osborn. Wait—did he somehow _know_ what serum Osborn had been working on? Did _Tartarus_ know!? Did they have some sort of connection with Oscorp Industries?

The Hell was—

 _FWOOM_.

A massive blast of air rocketed from the Shocker’s arm guard and tore up the roof of the building he stood on. He blurred through the air so fast I couldn’t react, even with my instincts. I felt a bone crunch in my ribs and screamed in pain as an electric shock tore through me; that gauntlet had struck me right in the chest, and it hurt like HELL. I careened backwards from the sheer force of the electric punch, crashing through the stone wall of a building below and behind me. Rubble crumbling around me threw off my senses, and my body buzzed with electricity. My erratic heart beat worried me, and I panted shakily.

I didn’t have to have super senses to feel the shockwave that rippled through the air, however, and I yelped, quickly transforming into a spider that raced across the floor to the hole I’d made in the wall of… whatever I’d been tossed into. My panic didn’t allow me time to take in my surroundings; I just wanted to get the hell outta there before I got another taste of that nasty gauntlet. I didn’t even care about the clothes I left behind.

Not a moment too soon, either. I winced as the Shocker raced by. My little spider self clambered up the wall and down the side of the building, before turning into a bird and racing away. I glanced behind me, trying to calm myself down, but gulped at the sight of my attacker making his way to the hole and peering at it, staring right at me.

“I see, so you can turn fully into animals, not just partially…” he mused, and I stared. How did he know!? While I quickly dived down towards a building across the street, he blasted himself forward, then as I curved to fly alongside the building instead of at it, he corrected his course. “But it won’t be enough. Maybe Osborn will learn that he can’t hide from his past when you’re laying in pieces all over the ground!”

_I needed to defend myself, I needed to defend myself, I needed to—_

“Holy shit, what did I do to you!?” I demanded, twisting around to face him as I transformed into a brachiator, though I kept my human vocal box. Brachiators, for those lacking the knowledge, are a species of primates that happened to develop hugely long arms. This was important for me because I wanted to stop him with as little danger of that gauntlet striking a dangerous part of me as possible. I grabbed one side of his arm, another side, and started spinning like I was Mario fighting Bowser. “I don’t even work for Osborn, you idiot!” While we dropped through the air, after building up enough momentum, I at last let go and flung the dude into the building we fell past.

 _SMACK._ My super strength yeeted him so hard he dented into the wall and became stuck there. I landed on the street below into a roll, panting.

Feeling the small onset of transformation exhaustion rising up in me, I glanced around the street. People kept a safe distance from me, but had their iPhones and iPods out, snapping pictures and filming videos of the fight. That wasn’t what was important to me, though. What was important to me was the bakery I spotted. I raced at it, yanked the door open, and before anyone could stop me, jumped over the counter and grabbed a loaf of bread. With employees shouting in annoyance behind me, I dashed out the door, scarfing the bread down to replenish my carbs.

The Shocker struggled in the wall, but he was good and stuck for the time being. Not content with that, though, I edged away down the road, then quickly ran.

That… that had happened. My first encounter with a supervillain…

I… needed a change of clothes. And I _really_ needed to hurry up and get better at sewing so that I could have a damn outfit that wouldn’t be lost when I needed to make a full transformation.

…Speaking of which… I should probably go get those lost clothes.

I turned back into an eagle and headed for the building I’d been blasted through. My flapping wings powered through the air, the cool wind rolling off my feathers. I perched on the entrance to the hole and, now that I wasn’t panicking for my life, took in the place that I’d landed in. It had been an unused office by the looks of it; there wasn’t even a computer on the desk. A single plant lay withering away in a pot next to the door, and it looked kinda dusty.

I glided over to where my clothes lay in about the middle of the floor, picked them up, turned into a human with an ape head, and began putting them on. Don’t want to leave too much evidence lying around… It’d be bad if the police got their hands on the clothes and took my fingerprints off them.

While I was struggling to put my clothes on, I thought I heard something and paused, listening carefully. When nothing was forthcoming, I shrugged and kept pulling my pants up. I zipped and buckled the fly, cracked my back—

_BEHIND YOU!_

I swung myself to the side just in enough time that I missed the blade slashing through the air only cut off a few gorilla hairs instead of my actual head.

What the—what now!?

My eyes followed my sensory warnings to the sight of a black-and-purple clad menacing figure slinking at me from the shadows. Glowing purple claws rose out of holes in the back of his suit, and with that three-spiked cape, it could only be one villain—the Prowler.

 _What. The. Hell_.

“Where are you guys COMING FROM today!?” I yelped, nervously taking a few steps towards the open hole in the wall. The Prowler stalked forward, claws in his metal glove stretched out menacingly. He held his hand out and dragged them along the wall, throwing a disgusting sound of metal slicing against stone out. I winced, clapping a hand over my ear, and I also stared as the blades cut through the stone like butter.

Shit, not good. Oh, no, not good at _all_. If those things cut through me, that’d be _very, very bad_.

Swallowing, I backed up towards the hole, but just as I was about to utilize the ability of the chameleon, a shockwave rocked out and the Shocker jumped through the hole. He landed two feet away from me, glanced to his side, and saw me. He readied his gauntlet, but the sound of the Prowler’s blades cutting through stone dragged his attention away.

“ _Prowler_ ,” he growled out, glancing between us. “Two versus one? I guess your boss didn’t like the results of the last time we met.”

“You’re not who I’m after, Schultz,” the Prowler, voice made more mechanical than it should’ve been, probably to hide his identity. “Stand back and get out of here if you know what’s good for you. The animal’s mine.”

My eyes flicked between them nervously. They certainly seemed to have history, and I… wasn’t sure if that was good or bad for me. It didn’t exactly appear to be a _friendly_ history, though, so maybe I could use this as an advantage…? As I looked around for an opening, though, Schultz, which confirmed that my previous attacker was indeed the Shocker as I’d guessed, growled.

“What the hell? The kid’s not with you? You expect me to believe that?”

The Prowler’s yellow eye-holes narrowed. “I don’t have time for this, _Shocker_. I’m on a tight schedule here.”

They tensed, eyes focused on each other, and a second later, Schultz cursed. “I’ve fucking had it with you guys’ shit, Prowler, this ends _now!_ ” He dashed forward, and gauntlet clashed against deadly sharp blades as a wild fight started up. Seizing the opportunity, I gave myself the camouflaging ability of a chameleon, and as quietly as I could, jumped out the hole in the wall and flew away.

My head spun, and even as the Prowler got knocked out of the high-rise and created a _new_ hole in it, with the Shocker following behind him, I didn’t allow my heart to calm down. I turned my head back around and gained as much distance as I could, pointedly ignoring the sounds of increasingly large destruction. The wailings of police sirens joined the cacophony of the villains’ battle.

With both Tartarus and the Prowler after me… I needed to lie low for a while.

Shit, shit, shit.

As I hid out in my room later that evening, the pride that I’d slowly built up over the week and a half slipped out of my grasp.

I still couldn’t do anything but run away from my problems when faced with actual supervillains, and I was starting to think I’d stumbled across something way bigger than what I’d ever thought.

I was wrong. The superhero life wasn’t my speed after all.

And that hurt way worse than the Shocker’s electric gauntlet.


End file.
